


The Fortune of a Second Chance

by siehn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/pseuds/siehn
Summary: The bunker is quiet – Sam is off with Eileen and Jack back up in Heaven for a few days, leaving Dean and Cas to themselves. It’s odd, the quiet, but not in a bad way; he’s glad for a minute to breathe after the world didn’t end again, space to reorient the 12 years’ worth of everything between him and Cas without a nosy little brother around to tease them.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 99
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	The Fortune of a Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> My tropefest2021 fic! Hurrah, I actually finished it for once! This was originally going to be a much different fic, but well. I just couldn't let the softness go.

Dean jerks awake, some nameless nightmare crawling through his dreams alternating between Hell red and Empty black; he sucks in a heavy breath, swipes a little angrily at the wetness on his cheeks.

“Ugh,” he mutters, making a face. The room is cold, and he shudders when the air hits his bare chest, the other side of the bed vacant in a way that makes his chest ache, just a little. It’s better than the outright panic from the first time, staved off now only by the small square of paper stuck to the pillow.

_Still here. – C._

He only feels a little embarrassed that he needs the reminder that Cas is still here; figures he’s entitled to it, after all the shit they’ve been through. Still, it’s dumb to expect Cas to stay all night – he doesn’t need to sleep and, contrary to what he says, watching Dean sleep cannot be that fuckin’ interesting. He stares at the note for a long moment before pushing his way out of the bed and grabbing his favorite robe.

The bunker is quiet – Sam is off with Eileen and Jack back up in Heaven for a few days, leaving Dean and Cas to themselves. It’s odd, the quiet, but not in a bad way; he’s glad for a minute to breathe after the world didn’t end again, space to reorient the 12 years’ worth of everything between him and Cas without a nosy little brother around to tease them. And well, fuck knows Sam and Eileen deserve whatever happiness they can find together, not that Dean’s ever gonna say that out loud in so many words.

He huffs a laugh when he wanders into the kitchen to find the coffee pot already on, the carafe half-full and an empty mug sitting beside it. He pours the coffee and brings it up to his nose, inhaling the warm, rich scent of it. The bitter taste wakes him up a little more, helps him better shake the nightmare-memories. But it ain’t what he came looking for; the kitchen is as devoid of his angel as his bed had been, so he takes his coffee and makes his way to the library, the Bunker’s lights flickering on as he goes and he’s never been able to figure out if its part of the system or if it’s just the Bunker itself, some remnant of Mrs. Butters’ magic, or hell, maybe the building just fuckin’ likes him.

Either way, he’s thankful for it, doesn’t really like wandering the halls when they’re dark.

But there’s no Cas in the library, or the war room, or the garage.

Dean frowns, some of the earlier panic starting to ripple at the edges of his worn heart, but he takes a breath and reminds himself that they’re _safe_ , that sometimes Cas wanders, but he always comes back.

He still heads up the twisting stairs, shoving his bare feet into the boots by the door before pushing it open into the cold night. The snow flurries around him before settling again, not yet deep enough to be a problem. The cold is dry and biting, but Dean sighs and wanders out into it anyway, in search of his wayward angel.

He doesn’t have to wander far before he’s stopped short, breath catching somewhere in his chest as he catches sight of a familiar tan coat, messy wind-blown hair, the moon lighting up Cas’s face, making him look every bit as ethereal as the angel who walked into a barn all those years ago, sparks flying around him. He’s a little more touchable now, though, and Dean’s fingertips itch with the need to reach out; it’s always been hard to resist touching Cas, to push and pull and hold onto him, but it’s even harder to resist now that he’s _allowed_.

Mostly, he’s still trying to wrap his head around that. They both are, maybe, he thinks.

He blinks and Cas is looking at him and he gets lost in the endless blue, softer than it has any right to be when its directed at him. He blinks and Cas is rumpled and ruddy-cheeked and his breaths fog the air and Dean can’t help the smile that steals over his face at this too-human angel standing in front of him.

Cas answers it with his own smile, that small, secret one that he only ever gives to Dean.

“Hey man, it’s like 20 degrees out, what are you doin,” he huffs, ducking his head to hide the blush that crawls up his neck to stain the tips of his ears. Doesn’t say the many, many embarrassingly sappy things that come to mind, even though Cas can probably read them all over his face.

“It’s snowing,” Cas answers, holding one hand up to catch the flakes falling down around them. “I wanted to…Feel it.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, stepping closer into Cas’s space almost without thinking about it, but well, it ain’t like personal space was ever a thing for them anyway. “Feel it?” he asks, because Cas couldn’t feel temperatures, really, and he’d never shown an interest in-

“Mm,” Cas hums, finally turning his full attention to Dean, his body shifting like it’s instinct to meet Dean halfway, and maybe it is, now. After everything. He stares for a long moment and Dean lets him look, used to holding the full force of Cas’s attention by now. It still sparks something hot in his belly, but he ignores it for now in favor of watching Cas back – the way the snow falls onto his hair and sticks, the soft, fond look on his face.

“I was going to tell you in the morning,” Cas says finally, hushed, like he’s talking about something sacred. “But since you’re out here,” he shrugs, and it strikes Dean the naturalness of it, how much better he’s gotten at the gestures, how much work he’s put in to learn humanity like a second language. Fluent, now, in a lived-in kind of way.

“What—”

“I decided,” he pauses, glances at Dean’s face again and reaches into one of the pockets of his coat, pulling out something on a chain. Dean’s breath catches for the second time that night when he sees the swirling blue glow of Grace inside the vial hanging from the chain. The glow of it casts light on both of them, illuminates the dark, makes the snow sparkle.

“Is that your fuckin’—”

“Grace, yes,” Cas interrupts, rolling his eyes at Dean’s tone. “Dean,” he calls softly, catching Dean’s eyes and holding his gaze in a familiar gesture as he offers that soft, crooked smile again. “I want to grow old with you,” he says, gentle, like he gets that it’s gonna punch the air right out of Dean. Like he didn’t just cut divinity out of his veins for -

“Cas, you can’t, you—” Dean doesn’t know what to say, how to tell Cas that he’s not, that he shouldn’t –

Cas puts a finger to Dean’s lips and shakes his head. He reaches up and back and hooks the chain around Dean’s neck so that the vial falls over his heart. It’s very warm. “I was never a very good Angel, Dean; we both know that. But I think I’ll do alright as a man, as long as I get to stay with you,” and he says it like. Like it’s a fuckin’ question. Like he’s still not sure.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean whispers, like an invocation, one hand lifting to fit over the vial, his fingers curling around it. He scowls then, Cas’s words filtering through the haze of his brain, and his other hand reaches out to grip the lapels of that damn trench coat. “First of all, you were the _best_ Angel,” he says mutinously, giving a small shake, “it was the others who’re dicks.” Because that’s just fuckin’ facts, frankly. “And second, that’s not even; of _course_ you get to stay with me, what kind of question??” He rolls his eyes, does his best to ignore the way Cas’s have gone a little wide. “I told you, man,” he adds, because he needs to make this _clear_. “You have me, Cas. It’s. I’m—”

He sighs, lifting his hand from the vial to rub tiredly at his face. He doesn’t know how to say it anymore than he already has. But maybe.

He’s always been better at showing, really, and Cas might actually understand this time.

“C’mon,” he mutters, tugging Cas forward with him as he turns, shifting his grip from Cas’s lapel to his hand, tangling their fingers. “I wanna. I got somethin’ for you,” he adds, when Cas tilts his head at him, squinting a question. “Might make you finally get it in your thick skull that you’re it for me.”

“Dean—”

“Nope, c’mon.”

He drags him through the hallways, back towards his room, his grip on Cas’s hand firm despite the nerves jingling around his head. “Grace or no Grace,” he starts as he pushes into his room, finally letting Cas’s hand go so that he can better dig through the small wooden box on his desk, “I want you. With me. Just…All the time. However long you wanna be here.”

Longer than that, actually, but. He has _some_ dignity left.

“I always want to be here,” Cas tells him in that deeply earnest way that never fails to make Dean’s heart stutter.

“Well…Good,” Dean mutters, ignoring the way his hands are shaking, just a little, as he picks up what he came in here for and turns back to Cas, holding his hand out. “I uh. I was gonna wait, but,” he shrugs, making a face. “Hell, I think maybe we’ve waited long enough.”

Twelve years is a long damn time.

“That’s your mother’s—” Cas is definitely wide around the eyes now, and that’s…Something goes warm and hot at the same time inside Dean, knowing he put that look on Cas’s face.

“Ring, yeah. I um. I had it resized,” he admits, wiggling his hand a little until Cas reaches out to pick it up, all gentle like he thinks it might break in his hands. “I figured…I figured she’d like that it was you.” His throat decides to make a bid to close up then, and he has to swallow hard, reaching up to scrub one hand through his hair as Cas carefully inspects the ring.

He looks a little uncertain when he looks back at Dean. “I’m reading this right?”

And that ache is back in his chest, some part of him wishing he could just hand Cas his battered old heart because the angel’s had it all along anyway.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says softly, reaching out to gently take the ring back. “I know y’know, I’m…Legally dead, or a wanted fugitive, maybe, who knows right, it changes weekly, and you’re not even,” he gestures vaguely, and Cas manages something like an amused snort, despite how wet it sounds. “But I figure maybe we can call Garth, and Jody’s backyard is nice, right and we got suits and—”

“Dean,” Cas says, and there’s half of a blinding grin working its way over his face, “ _ask_.”

He clears his throat, thinks he should be more self-conscious than he is. But –

“I love you, Cas,” he says finally, halfway grinning himself, something giddy crawling its way up his spine at the way Cas’s breath still catches when he says it. “What’ya say, wanna marry my ass?”

“Your ass _is_ nice,” Cas says immediately, because he’s an asshole, “but presumably I’d also be marrying the rest of you.” Dean rolls his eyes and holds his hand out, wiggles his fingers until Cas huffs a teary laugh and sets his palm in Dean’s. “Yes,” he whispers quietly, almost a prayer, a holy thing between them, as Dean slides the ring onto his finger, the blue of Cas’s Grace glinting off the metal.

Dean’s eyes are hot, his cheeks wet for the second time that night, but he doesn’t wipe them away this time. Instead, he breathes through everything clawing in his chest, the overwhelming weight of everything he feels for Cas.

“I love you,” Cas tells him, an immutable fact of the universe, and tugs him closer until their foreheads rest against each other. Maybe Dean should have waited to reorient their world until he was dressed in something better than Scooby-Doo pajama pants and an old robe, but.

He’s so tired of waiting.

Cas gently cups his face, wiping his tears away and Dean’s eyes close at the gesture, at the touch – a lifetime of violence and it’s another soldier who touches him with so much love. He turns his head to press a kiss into Cas’s palm, lets himself be drawn forward the few scant inches remaining between them until their lips meet in a messy kiss.

Tomorrow there will be things to do. Plans to be made, people to tell.

For now, there’s only Dean and Cas and everything between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As ever, find me over at i-had-bucky on tumblr or @inkandwolves on the bird app.


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